


Cadenza

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Cadence [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage, No Plot/Plotless, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is really about to happen, this is really happening right now, and his heart can’t remember how to beat properly and he can’t breathe, he’s going to pass out before he ever even gets to see Maka’s dress." Soul and Maka finally end up where they belong. There are many tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cadenza

Soul can’t stop shaking.

He’s standing in front of less than two dozen people. He doesn’t have to do anything but stand here, repeat back a few words just like he did during the rehearsal yesterday. He’s had piano recitals in front of more people and been less nervous even though he had far more to do. He even  _knows_  everyone who’s here, and it’s not like he’s alone in front of everyone; he’s got Black*Star just over his shoulder, and Liz is coming up the aisle with Kid alongside her, and this should be  _fine_. Getting the shakes is the opposite of cool.

Black*Star leans in to offer, “Hey Soul, you nervous? You look like you’re gonna pass out, man.” He probably thinks it’s a whisper, even when every single person in the rows of seats looks up at the words.

“Shut up,” Soul hisses. “I’m fine. Be cool.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Black*Star grins. His hand slams into Soul’s shoulders with bruising force and Soul hisses in incoherent irritation. “Everyone’ll be looking at me anyway. Too bad for Maka, but that’s what she gets for having me as best man at her wedding.”

“God, Black*Star, be  _quiet_ ,” Soul hisses, but his mouth is turning up into a smile and he really does feel a little better. It helps that most of the audience is grinning now, or at least Stein is; Crona looks a little shaky and Marie hasn’t emerged from her hands since she started crying two minutes in, but Wes is actively laughing and Soul’s parents are biting back smiles, and that helps. In the end, after all, Soul knows everyone here. It’s not like anyone’s going to be judging him at this point.

There’s movement at the corner of his eye, and when he turns and sees Tsubaki pacing her steady way up the aisle all his temporarily forgotten panic comes surging back, because  _oh god, she’s coming_. Tsubaki looks calm and reasonable and only very very slightly teary, although when Black*Star catching her eye by expedient of waving frantically from behind Soul’s shoulder her laugh looks a lot like almost-a-sob before she can get herself under control.

There’s more delay, still, Soul knows this, but Patty skipping up towards them in a cloud of flung flower petals is no kind of a reprieve. This is really about to happen, this is really happening  _right now_ , and his heart can’t remember how to beat properly and he can’t breathe, he’s going to pass out before he ever even gets to see Maka’s dress.

“Soul,” Kid says over his shoulder, an actual whisper barely loud enough for Soul to catch. “Breathe.” There’s a hand against his elbow -- that’s Black*Star, bracing him without talking for once -- and Soul takes a breath and looks away from the entry just as the traditional march begins to play.

He doesn’t look back when the audience shifts in their seats, turning expectantly to watch the bride’s entrance. He doesn’t turn when the rest of the wedding party set themselves at an angle towards the door. He waits, and he waits, and then he finally pivots as he feels her coming, knows before he even looks that she’s just clearing the edge of the door. There are two people coming in, and for once Death Scythe’s red hair is less eye-catching than his daughter is.

Of course, she’s always held Soul’s attention.

Maka’s hair is up in a twist of some sort against the back of her head; Soul can identify Tsubaki’s hand in that, as much as he can see Liz’s contribution in the sweep of shadow across her eyes and the faint pink over her lips. There are flower petals caught in her hair from Patty’s too-enthusiastic tossing, and she’s biting her lip like she’s not sure if she’s going to laugh or cry, but under the shine of the dress and the pink of the flowers and the makeup she’s Soul’s Maka, Soul’s perfect meister; when he blinks he can see her as she was when they met, determination in her chin and boots on her feet. Then the past evaporates, she’s coming towards him, her shoulders are steady and strong and her dress is gorgeous, she is gorgeous, she has always been gorgeous. Death Scythe is clinging to her arm so tightly Soul can see his knuckles going white; it looks like the daughter is supporting the father, an impression only increased when they draw to a stop and Maka turns in towards him. For a moment they stare at each other, Maka smiling in spite of her attempt to level her expression and Death Scythe flushed red with tears he is trying and failing to hold back. Then Maka reaches out, and Death Scythe collects her into his arms, and for the first time Soul can see the resemblance in their features, the lines of Maka’s cheekbones and jawline under her father’s skin.

Then they move apart -- they’re both crying now, and both smiling, like their expressions were contagious and caught from one to another in that brief embrace. Death Scythe brushes a strand of hair back from Maka’s cheek, and leans in to kiss her forehead, and Maka shuts her eyes and murmurs something Soul doesn’t quite catch. Death Scythe lets her go, though his eyes follow her as she turns away, but she’s turning towards Soul and whatever attention he had to spare evaporates, vanishes under the force of her eyes meeting his. It’s like their first meeting all over again, the world quietly rearranging itself in submission to the look in her green eyes.

She takes the steps carefully so as not to trip on her dress, but she doesn’t look down, doesn’t look away from Soul’s gaze until she’s handed off her bouquet to Tsubaki and reached out to curl her fingers into her weapon’s. Her eyes drop down to his cheeks, and when she giggles it sounds damp even before she reaches out to rub her thumb over his skin.

“You’re crying,” she says, and Soul realizes he is, realizes his mouth is open and he can’t remember when he last took a breath. “That’s not cool at all, Soul.”

“Yeah,” he manages. His voice is hoarse and raw and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care about the audience or their friends or anything at all but Maka. “Yeah. I know.”

Maka bites her lip, and takes a sniffling breath that’s a little bit a laugh and a little bit a sob, but her fingers are steady against Soul’s shaking hand and her eyes are clear in spite of the tears collecting in the corners, and Soul knows he’s not about being cool.

He’s about Maka. He always has been.


End file.
